


Vanilla

by aeyria



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, No Sex, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, like seriously its vaguely mentioned as a context thing and thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeyria/pseuds/aeyria
Summary: Vanilla - warmth, safety, comfort, sweetnessjust some sweet, sweet aftercare
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56
Collections: Spice Rack





	Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nen (Nenchen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenchen/gifts).



> The nsfw channel on the Ace Omens server was doing flavour prompts for short drabbles and I decided to join in. Nen gave me vanilla!
> 
> Please note that I do not write nsfw and have no intention to changing that so please do not ask me to. This is as close to explicit as it will ever get.

“Where do you go?” Aziraphale asks him later, after, when the fluids have been thought away and they are lying together in their bed in a tangle of limbs and clean linens. 

The angel’s left wing is draped over their bodies like a shelter, cradling the back of Crowley's head where Aziraphale’s thick fingers comb through his hair. It is quiet, and Crowley almost lets the question drift by before he realizes something has been asked of him. He makes a noise as he surfaces, pulling himself just enough away from the soft swell of chest to see Aziraphale’s gentle gaze watching over him.

“Where?” he asks sleepily. Words feel foreign after so long being nonverbal.

“When you’re under like that. You go someplace else.” Aziraphale brushes his thumb across Crowley’s cheekbone as he speaks, cupping the sharp edges of his jaw against the palm of his hand as if he’s holding something precious and Crowley feels the gentle pull of surrender lap at the edges of his mind. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “It doesn’t feel like anywhere. ’s like everything else falls away and all that’s left is sensation.” 

“And you like that?”

He shrugs. “It’s freeing. My head’s not usually like that.”

“Oh.” 

Aziraphale goes pensive, and for a while Crowley just lets himself drift, tucked away in their shared cradle of warmth and safety while the angel mulls things over. The wandering of his hands would seem almost absentminded were it not for the deliberate, infinite care he can feel guiding the gentle tracts they trace. I know you, they say. I’m with you.

“Why do you come back from it then?” Aziraphale asks eventually. “Or rather-, what I meant to say was-, would you stay there if I never called you back up? Would you want that?”

Crowley thinks about it. Sometimes, he thinks, he does. Sometimes, caught up in the moment, he thinks he could be content to float in that nebulous space forever. But…

“Nah,” he says. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” There's no judgement to it, of course there's not, but there is a tad more confusion than he'd like for something that seems so obvious. 

Crowley sighs, pulling himself closer to Aziraphale and dragging his wings out of the ether to curl protectively around the angel’s own.

“Oh angel," he murmurs, "it’s the same reason I couldn’t leave when I thought the world was ending. Because my world and home is you.”


End file.
